


the cold goes away with every passing day

by fanfictiongreenirises



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Arranged Marriage, Canon Era, Fluff, Human Disaster Aaron Burr, M/M, Multi, Polyamory, Soulmate AU, honestly i didn't intend this to be so fluff but there's like a smidge of angst too, i use possets too much, only it's an AU canon era bc of the soulmate thing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-08
Updated: 2017-10-08
Packaged: 2019-01-10 12:33:31
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,678
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12299331
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fanfictiongreenirises/pseuds/fanfictiongreenirises
Summary: "James sat down in the armchair opposite Aaron and picked up the cup sitting on the side table. Taking a delicate sip himself, he was pleased to note that everything was perfect.God, James hated this."Or; the one where James Madison and Aaron Burr are in an emotionless marriage when Thomas Jefferson is shoved into their lives.





	the cold goes away with every passing day

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Anonfeather](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anonfeather/gifts).



> it's always been my dream to have a fic with a long ass title all in lower caps xD
> 
> This is based off the prompt:
> 
> "It’s not mystical but it's government mandate/arranged marriage. There's a whole team matchmaking team to make powercouples that become awesome citizen for their jobs because there's mutual support from the spouses.
> 
> You received a letter or something very bureaucratic at 16? 18? At 21, you have to move in/marry with significant other. If there's a divorce/death, sometime your life gets flipped around and you're assigned to someone else or a third enters the 'marriage'."
> 
> Hope you enjoy =)
> 
> Disclaimer: okay, this is my first time writing in canon era and I highkey want to emphasise that I am, in no way, romanticising or glorifying the actual historical figures who were all dicks and I would honestly punch them if I ever met them. These //characters// are all from the musical.

James’ letter arrived on the night of his eighteenth birthday. His father had organised a dinner event at Montpelier and their ballroom was currently milling with people. Distinguished figures had come to greet James before wandering off to find other company; it was no secret that James Madison made awkward conversation.

He’d been sipping from a glass and watching people over its rim, when he’d been approached by a man in a long black coat and matching hat. He wore tinted eyeglasses and had a thin moustache, maintained immaculately. James was instantly wary around this dark figure.

“You are James Madison Junior, son of James Madison Senior and Nelly Conway Madison?” the man asked. His voice was not remarkable, and rather expressionless. James would not know him from another man in a crowd.

“I am,” he replied, his wine glass held poised by his fingertips. He patiently waited for the man to continue. 

He pulled out an envelope from inside his jacket with a flourish, and held it out to James. “Your match.” 

James froze. This was the letter telling him who the Council had paired him with. This was the person – man, woman, he did not particularly mind – that they felt would bolster him to success. This was the person he would be required to marry. This was his entire romantic and sexual future being handed to him in a single creamy envelope. 

He took it, relieved at the steadiness of his hand.

The man tipped his hat at James, and disappeared in the crowd. Perhaps James ought to have asked for his name, for further instructions – _aren’t you tired of being told what to do every step of the way?_ said a voice in his mind – but instead he retreated through a door hidden behind a tapestry and rushed upstairs to his chambers.

His fingers shook slightly as he tore the rich paper of the envelope open, the symbol of the Council being torn into two. He took out the papers and unfolded them.

            Burr Jr., Aaron

            February 6, 1756

            Born in New Jersey

            Second-born of Aaron Burr Sr. & Esther Burr (née Edwards)

            Enrolled in College of New Jersey

The list went on. James drank up every bit of information he was given, and finally, upon flipping the page, he found a rough sketch of a baby (the list alone did not provide enough information about a match for one to track their partners down. For that, they would need to actually research and investigate, and depending on a number of things, they may be stopped by the Council).

James leaned back against the wall as he studied the infant face of his match. Like most babies, he had round cheeks and what seemed to be a cheerful disposition. His head had small tufts of hair, which altogether added to the somewhat mushroom appearance of his face. Tracing over the face with a soft touch, James found himself smiling slightly.

“Aaron Burr,” he mouthed to himself, slightly in awe.

 

* * *

 

James and Aaron were told to move in together when James was twenty-six, on Aaron’s twenty-first birthday. James received a letter just as inconspicuously as the previous, only this one detailed a meeting area for the two of them.

From there, they were to decide on a suitable lodging, and were required by law to live together at the chosen residence within six months.

It had been two years since then, and James found his life…suitable.

“Good morning,” Aaron greeted him when he wandered out into the drawing room upon waking. Just like he’d done every morning for the past two years. He flipped the page of the newspaper he was reading, and took a sip from the cup in his hand. 

James sat down in the armchair opposite him and picked up the cup sitting on the side table. Taking a delicate sip himself, he was pleased to note that everything was perfect. 

God, James hated this.

“I have an appointment this afternoon,” Aaron said, eyes still on the paper before him. 

James hummed in acknowledgement. “Will you return home with me or shall I tell the cook to leave your dinner in your chambers?”

Yes, they slept in separate chambers. It was something they’d both agreed upon when, in the first month, neither of them had been able to get a good night’s sleep due to the constant awareness of the other beside them. 

“I will let you know before you leave. It is up to Washington and how long he allows the cabinet meeting to go on, really. I think he rather enjoys detaining us, to be perfectly honest."

When Aaron said _to be perfectly honest_ , it meant that he was, in fact, giving his opinion. James had noticed very early on in their relationship that Aaron was timid, and liked to be certain he wasn’t angering anyone before voicing his thoughts.

“Yes, I think so too.” And then there was silence.

 

* * *

 

Aaron was, even after all this time, still intimidated by the presence of James Madison. It wasn’t anything the man _said_ or  _did_ ; he just had that sort of aura surrounding him. It drew eyes to him like a moth to a candle the moment he opened his mouth, but he also had the ability to remain small and hidden, a dormouse in a corner when he wished to be.

Aaron wished he could say he and James were friends, but he knew that if it weren’t for their matching, they would most likely never have spoken to one another outside of work-related issues. 

But he didn’t _mind_ their arrangement. He just found it… dull. Passionless. _But still tolerable_ , he reasoned with himself every night as he came home with James.

 _Better than what many had_ , he shouted at himself in moments of anger when he was furious with the distance between him and James.

And then the letter came. 

It was their third letter from the Council, addressed to both of them. Usually, to couples unable to conceive for whatever reason, the third letter told them they were eligible to adopt a child. 

James and Aaron shared a moment of unified shock when they saw the letter sitting upon the rest, Aaron reaching for James’ hand without second thought. James clutched back at him with equal grip, and Aaron had only one moment to marvel at this before James was ripping it open.

Aaron waited patiently, trying to read James’ face. His heart sped up when James blanched. He broke away from Aaron, breaking the hold he had on Aaron’s hand and sinking into an armchair.

Aaron hurried to sit beside him, grabbing the letter from James’ hand in a rare show of force.

“Sweet Jesus,” he muttered as he scanned its contents. When he finally reached the end, he put the letter down in his lap and turned to face James. “What are we to do now?” 

James’ right hand was clenched in a fist, and with his left, he ran his fingers over his mouth, these being his only signs of agitation. It’d taken Aaron a while to become accustomed to the quirks of his match, but he’d learnt.

Reading over the contents of the letter, he tensed. “A third partner.”

James hummed in response, not saying anything.

Aaron continued. “They wish for us – not wish, we _must_ obey–”

“Hush!” James whirled around to face him. “Do not openly condemn the Council here in the light of day,” he hissed, glancing toward the ornate doors that led out of the room. “We will discuss this further tonight, but for now we must maintain our composure and continue as per usual.”

 

* * *

 

James couldn’t focus on work. He sat at his desk with a stack of paper before him, a fountain pen in hand, but his gaze was on the scenery visible through the window. James had been lucky with his office.

He couldn’t get his mind off the letter. It, in summary, told the two of them that after observing for the past couple of years, their relationship and emotional bonding had been found unsatisfactory. And to fix this, they were introducing a third man into their relationship; the recently widowed Thomas Jefferson.

James and Aaron had both heard of Jefferson, but neither had ever met the man, let alone held a conversation with him. James knew three things of him: he was reserved, he had a fondness for violins, and he was matched to a woman named Martha.

A knock sounded at James’ door, and he snapped his head toward the sound. “Come in,” he called, even though he knew who it was.

Aaron walked in smartly. Regardless of where he went, he would always maintain his posture and brisk gait, and James ~~loved~~ admired that about him.

“Are you set to leave now?” he asked after making sure the door was closed behind him. Matched couples were meant to interact with _more_ everything – affection, warmth, friendship, _emotion_ – and neither of them wished to stand out.

James nodded. He stood, and grabbing the pile of papers before him, slid them carefully into his leather briefcase – his one-year wedding anniversary present from Aaron.

On the ride to their house, Aaron was oddly fidgety. James knew he tried to be in complete control of him body, to the point where even breathing was a calculated movement, but now his fingers twitched every so often, eyes darting around the racing scenery out the window. 

“Are you alright?” James felt inclined to ask, finally.

Aaron let out a breath. “My mind is fixated on that letter,” he said in a low tone. James didn’t reprimand him for his words; who was here to hear them? Their driver could not hear a word inside the carriage.

“Mine as well.” James ran a hand over his mouth. “I do not think it will change very much.”

Aaron raised an eyebrow, a skill James had dedicated much time to copying but was yet to succeed in. “We will be having a third person – Thomas Jefferson, no less – thrust into our relationship and our home, and you _do not think it will change very much_?”

“We barely have a relationship to begin with! What could he possibly affect? And our home is large enough for another.”

Aaron opened his mouth to argue, but fell silent. James hated it when he did this, but said nothing. The rest of the ride was spent in silence.

 

* * *

 

Thomas Jefferson arrived on their doorstep a week later, his belongings in a carriage behind him. He wore a magenta coat, with a matching waistcoat, and a hat that shimmered in the sun. Aaron could sense the beginning twinges of a headache just looking at him.

“Thomas Jefferson? I am Aaron Burr.”

He felt a hand on his shoulder, and fought the urge to tense, unused to physical contact. “James Madison,” he heard from beside him.

Jefferson shook their hands and walked inside, James leading him to the parlour.

“Well,” James began once they were seated, all three on different chairs. Aaron could see Thomas’ confusion at the sight of them sitting so separately, and felt his uneasiness increase. Here was the man who could change everything that Aaron had come to expect from his personal life. “Would you like some refreshments?”

Jefferson blinked, as did Aaron. He’d expected to delve right into the details of their lifestyle, but instead, James was making _small talk_.

“That would be lovely,” Jefferson murmured. He had a vaguely terrified look in his eyes, though he hid it well.

There was silence until a platter of teacakes and beverages arrived, and then when the door closed, Aaron began talking. “I’m sure you are somewhat perplexed by our relationship, Mr Jefferson –”

“Please,” Jefferson interrupted, “call me Thomas. If we are to be matched and married, we may as well begin referring to one another with our Christian names.” 

Aaron inclined his head. “Then please call me Aaron.”

“And James, please,” James added.

Aaron continued, “As I was saying, I have no doubt you’ve noticed, in the brief time you have been here and by the fact that you have been matched a second time with a couple, that we do not have a typical relationship.” He glanced at James.

“We have been matched for two years or so,” James said, “and have elected to have a strictly formal bond. We do not share beds, and romance does not play a part in either of our lives.”

Thomas had remained silent through all of this, but now spoke. “And now? Will this – do you _wish_ for this to change now that I am also here?” 

Aaron avoided looking at James. “I would not mind a change.” He saw James’ head turn to him, but continued to look at Jeff— Thomas. “I feel that change might be necessary.”

“Aaron—” James began, but broke off. “Yes, I agree that change is necessary. But we will each have our separate chambers,” he said to Thomas, “and see where we go from there.”

 

* * *

 

They didn’t go anywhere from there. Or at least, that’s what it felt like for Thomas Jefferson. As someone who’d come from a relationship where both he and his match were in love, with thoughts of children, it felt cold. 

Everything was cold: the house, with its big rooms that were filled with silence and lack of personality; their relationship, with the mile-long distance between Aaron and James. Thomas _needed_ physical contact. He needed relationships, whether they be romantic or platonic. He wasn’t the sort of person who could live alone.

So he decided to take matters into his own hands.

“We will be breaking our fast in the small dining room,” he said one morning, after roughly a week of studying timidly from the background and trying to see where he would fit in.

There was nowhere to fit in because there was nothing to fit into.

Aaron and James exchanged puzzled glances, but followed him as he led the way to the dining room. By normal standards, it was a rather large space and seated eight, but was never used. There was a china cabinet on the side, filled with china sets that Aaron had inherited from his grandfather.

The round table meant that no one was in any special place. Thomas took his seat in the chair farthest from the door, and James and Aaron sat on either side of him, but leaving a chair between. Still, Thomas would take what he could get.

“Is something the matter?” James asked, brow furrowing. He leaned forward, clasping his hands together beneath his chin so make it even more obvious that Thomas had his full attention. Aaron said nothing, but gazed at Thomas questioningly.

Thomas honestly felt rather overwhelmed. He cleared his throat. “My previous match, Martha, and I… we used to share meals together. While we had very different lives, it allowed us to spend time together. I wish for us,” and here he contemplated reaching out to clasp their hands, but decided against it, “to do the same. Morning and evening after we arrive home.”

Aaron was the first to answer him. “Alright. I like this notion of spending time together.”

James nodded. “Friendship, or at the very least, companionship, will be a good thing. But Thomas,” he looked at Thomas with an inscrutable expression, “we are not replacing Martha. Not like that. We are simply your new matches.”

Thomas felt his throat close up, and could only jerk his head in acknowledgement.

And that was how it went for a month, with the three of them meeting in the mornings and the evenings for meals. During breakfast, there would be newspapers on the table fighting for space amongst the plates and cutlery. On one particularly memorable occasion, Aaron’s knocked over his glass, causing him to stammer in embarrassment before James let out a bark of laughter, Thomas following him. During dinners, there were stacks of paper from work that they brought with them in the hopes that they would complete more work.

Thomas had come from a strict family, both before and after his first matching, and had found it appalling at first. But now he brought his own work to the table, and there was a sort of solidarity in the silent flicking through of the pages and scratch of pen by candlelight. The occasional conversation that broke out was welcome.

The next thing Thomas did was touch.

“I think I will retire for the night,” he said as the longcase clock ticked into the night. They were sitting in the drawing room, the fireplace burning bright. Thomas was fond of this fireplace: flat against the wall, the wall around it was surrounded by bead-edged planks that reached high above Thomas’ head but not the ceiling. Its simplicity matched the rest of the room.

He rose from the armchair, marking his place in the book and setting it on the side table. No one would touch it.

James had been sitting in a similar position in the armchair adjacent to his, and he glanced up to smile goodnight to Thomas. He made his way to him first, slowly reaching down to take hold of James’ hand and bringing it to his lips, maintaining eye contact the whole time.

James’ breath caught, and he remained fixated in Thomas’ gaze before Thomas gently placed his hand back and turned to face Aaron, who’d just made his way back from their expansive library.

Thomas repeated himself. “I am turning in for the night.” He walked to Aaron, who cocked his head in question. Just as slowly as with James, he placed a hand on the side of Aaron’s face and kissed his cheek. “I bid you both good night.”

With that, he walked to his chambers, not pausing to see their reaction.

What began as tiny gestures soon became holding a hand when addressing someone, regular and casual kisses - never on the mouth, not yet - that both James and Aaron seemed to become accustomed to, and conversations in the house that went beyond the usual formalities.

 

* * *

 

James didn’t know what to think. He’d been brought up in a stiff and unrelenting household, where traditions and formality were raised upon a pedestal, held above all.

The relationship between his father and mother had been like that: there were the customary things they participated in: a dance or two together at every function, feeding the other a single – just the first – mouthful of their food (apparently this had to do with performing the task of a poison taster, to show the true extent of one’s support and love), sharing a bed and chambers, and treating each other with the utmost respect.

There had been nothing beyond the terms of their arranged matching between the two of them. James had been able to tell, with a child’s intuition.

And maybe that’d leaked into his relationship with his match.

But now Thomas had come in and begun changing everything familiar with his life and he was… bewildered.

“May I come in?” Thomas’ voice sounded through the wood of the door to James’ chambers, and he looked up from his desk. He’d been running over their finances; being the oldest in his and Aaron’s relationship, it’d been left to him, and when Thomas came in he didn’t even question it.

“Yes. Please.” James could have kicked himself. He always felt like an awkward, bumbling fool around Thomas’ smooth manner.

The door opened, and Thomas entered carrying a candleholder in one hand and a couple of books in the other. He left the door open behind him, and James knew it was because of Aaron. Neither of them wanted Aaron to think that there was anything they were hiding from him, or that he was excluded from.

“I mentioned earlier a book I had read? I finally located it in the library. It was hiding amongst the thicker books.” Thomas smiled, and it was a beautiful thing to behold. The candlelight lit up strange hollows in his face, and James was disturbed to note that he looked bonier than when he’d arrived.

“Yes! This is it?” He stood abruptly, and it was a credit to Thomas’ composure that he didn’t jump. James couldn’t help it; he was certainly one to get excited over literature.

Thomas placed the candleholder on his desk, and held out a thin book. It was titled ‘ _Discours sur l'origine et les fondements de l'inégalité parmi les hommes’_ with the author’s name being Jean-Jacques Rousseau. James ran his fingers over the cover lightly, flicking through the pages and glimpsing the French words inside. He’d never seen it before, which meant that Thomas must’ve brought it with him - he had singlehandedly doubled their library.

“Thank you,” he said as sincerely as he could without becoming choked up. Lending and recommending him books meant trust, and Thomas trusting James with this was a strange but not unwelcome notion.

He saw another thin book in Thomas’ hand, and gestured to it with his head. “What book is that?”

“This is for Aaron,” Thomas said, bringing it up to the light so James could read the title. “I thought he might enjoy it. It is very much in his interests.”

James… James had no idea what was and wasn’t in Aaron’s interests. He made a decision, then and there, to find out.

 

* * *

 

Aaron was very seriously considering this to be a highly realistic opium-induced fever dream when Thomas began supplying him with the pamphlets on women’s rights.

The first one was one of his idols: Mary Wollstonecraft. He even had a portrait of her in his chambers. Aaron read _A Vindication of the Rights of Women_ in a single night, and spent the entire morning discussing it with anyone within earshot during their morning meal. The biggest surprise had been when James had actively joined in, but Aaron took it all in stride.

The fifth book he received was Diderot’s _The Nun_ , which had created quite a stir in its contents discussing religion. But Aaron ate it up; while his family had raised him to be religious, he liked to consider himself open minded.

Aaron had grown up with plenty of money. After the passing of his immediate family, he’d dedicated himself to his studies, and some days he wondered if that wasn’t what he should now go back to. He missed practicing law, but he couldn’t deny the allure politics had for him. 

But, possibly because of his lonely upbringing, he’d never known what to do with physical affection, even verbal. He could bring the whole of the Senate to tears in a single speech, but he could not, for the life of him, tell his matches that they looked stunning.

He settled by doing invisible acts that brightened their day – hopefully – but didn’t mean they had to acknowledge him. He began bringing in fresh flowers from the gardens every morning, setting them in different places every time. He prepared tea and coffee, but didn’t try his hand at cooking ever since he’d dropped a ladle in the fire and chaos had ensued.

Aaron had been taught piano from a young age, and had been a fairly decent player. As an adult, he’d rarely kept up the practice, but there were occasions where he’d felt the urge to seek out the instrument.

Not that he’d done so, never feeling comfortable enough to break the silence of the house.

But now…

It had been lightly drizzling, and Aaron had just finished editing the document he’d been working on for a fortnight. He felt a tingle in his fingertips, a leftover energy from writing and scratching out words and sentences and paragraphs and writing some more. His feet took him to the drawing room, where the piano sat. It would’ve gathered dust an inch thick, at the very least, if not for the regular dusting it received.

Aaron ran his fingers over its smooth surface. He’d never even approached the thing, feeling that it was an intimacy unwelcome in a setting that lacked it so strongly. Now he sat at the seat, and began to play.

The first few notes were terrible. He hadn’t played in years, and he was incredibly rusty. But soon he got back into the rhythm of it all, and if he closed his eyes he was back in his childhood home with his mother peering over his shoulder and correcting him.

When he opened them again, Thomas and James were sitting in a seat across from him, James openly gaping. He stopped playing.

“I was not aware you could play the piano,” James said. He didn’t say it in an accusatory tone, but Aaron felt himself bristling.

“It has been some time since I played,” he replied shortly. 

Thomas glanced between the two of them, and said, “May I perform a duet with you? It has been an age since I played, myself. I much prefer the violin.” Aaron had assumed this when he'd seen the collection of violins Thomas had brought along with him.

“Of course.” Aaron moved over to make room for Thomas, who sat down, elbows almost touching.

There was a closed book of sheet music sitting there, which Aaron had elected to ignore but now flicked open to something familiar and simple for them to attempt.

But Thomas chuckled. “My dear, your abilities are far beyond this, as are mine. Let us go to…” and he turned the pages until it stopped at a piece of music by Bach that would require Aaron’s full attention to play. 

But Thomas’ gaze was upon him, waiting for him to begin, so Aaron shrugged and adjusted his sleeves slightly. “I beg your pardon for any mistakes I will undoubtedly make in advance.”

“I am sure you will be perfect,” he replied coyly, playing the first note.

Aaron was too busy concentrating for the first few bars, but when there was a brief pause and he reached out to turn the page, he saw James sitting there gazing at the two of them, mesmerised. The candlelight shone in his eyes as he sat slumped for the first time since Aaron had met him.

Aaron felt the blood rush to his face and was glad that his complexion was too deep for it to be visible. He glanced to his right, where Thomas sat, and saw that his gaze was back on Aaron.

The air was charged, and it felt like the precursor of a thunderstorm when there’s the faintest tinge of rain in the wind and the breeze promised a colder hour. The light from the candles flickered and cast shadows around the room, making a ghostly atmosphere around the three of them.

Aaron took in a sharp breath, James quickly straightened in his chair, and he could see Thomas quickly glance away from the corner of his eye.

_Not now, but maybe someday._

* * *

 

Everything was going fine. At a slow but steady pace where they all became more and more familiar with one another. Until their workload doubled. It wasn’t that it _doubled_ more so _became more complex and challenging_ because for the first time in his life, Thomas began to have to actually fight to implement his ideas. He didn’t know how he felt about it; it was a welcome challenge, but it left him entirely drained for the rest of the day and he now had barely any time to continue with his wooing (if it could be called that) of his matches.

The weather began to get colder, and Thomas, being from Virginia and having almost no experience with snow, found himself shivering from time to time. He would wake in the middle of the night in a tight ball, curled up to preserve body heat and stay warm, and so the concept of a decent, full night’s sleep went entirely out the window.

And because of all this, he found himself becoming more and more short-tempered, his voice growing snappy as he spoke to both co-workers and partners alike. Aaron and James began avoiding him even in their house, and he felt his resistance to bitterness crumple even faster.

He missed Martha. He missed her soft hands as it kneaded its way into his hair, the way her smile would appear next to him every morning, how she laughed in the sunlight of the south…

He missed having another person beside him. And he’d thought that this whole thing he’d been doing with Aaron and James was working, but it seemed now that it was a one-way street.

Thomas put more hours into work, not taking the carriage with them home and opting to sometimes even spend the night at his desk. He had invested in an armchair for when he needed to sleep, and food was whenever he remembered to eat.

So it should’ve come as no surprise to him when he suddenly began getting dizzy spells when he moved, and rather than feeling cold on a winter’s night, he was sweating and could feel his face flushing. But he had to finish this one essay…

When he opened his eyes, Adams was standing before him with a frown on his face. He sat up; when had he closed his eyes?

“My dear man,” Adams said, folding his arms and gazing at Thomas critically, “I think you ought to go home now, don’t you?”

Thomas tried to reply, but his mouth was dry and he swallowed down a coughing fit.

“Well, that settles it.” Adams walked out the door, and Thomas felt relief and the familiar sense of disappointment course through his body as he leaned his head back against the chair and closed his eyes.

But just as he’d done so, he felt the squeak of his office door being opened and the soft breeze of non-office air enter his nostrils. And then a voice –

“Thomas?”

It was Aaron. Thomas opened his eyes to see the face of both his partners staring back at him with varying degrees of shock.

“You look abysmal,” James muttered as he walked over, but still a fair distance away from Thomas. “You appear to be on death’s door and while I appreciate the chance of an early leave from this plane of existence, I have work to finish, so you won’t mind if I stand over here.” 

Thomas wanted to let out a snort of amusement, but settled for a smile instead. He’d come to appreciate James’ unique style of humour.

Aaron moved closer to him, and peered into his eyes. “I think you are suffering from influenza,” he said slowly. His hand was suddenly pressed under Thomas’ chin, and he nodded decisively. Thomas held himself stock still, body simultaneously wishing to flinch away from Aaron’s cold hands and lean into the touch.

“No, I am simply weary,” Thomas whispered to him. It was true: he wanted nothing more than to be at home asleep in bed. His traitorous mind supplied him with images of Monticello and Martha bringing him possets.

And then there was the feeling of being dragged to his feet, and he looked to his side to see James hauling him up. “Did you not say you wished to stay away from my deathly illness?” he asked.

James shrugged. “Now that Aaron has identified it to be influenza, it is no matter. I suffered from it regularly for a few years after graduating.”

Aaron grabbed his other arm and the two of them took him out to the carriage. Thomas didn’t remember anything from the ride home; he could only recall getting in, and then being helped out and walking towards the front entrance of the house and feeling as though it were miles away.

The next thing he remembered was waking to find himself in his underclothes, shoes off and in a neat line by the wall. There was a basin on the table, a washcloth hanging from it, and a glass of water beside it. Thomas tried to stand to get it, but felt his head swim and grabbed onto the poster of the bed.

The door opened at that moment, and he heard cursing and the sound of footsteps hurrying towards him. “Honestly, Thomas,” muttered a voice. It was silky and smooth, and he immediately identified it to be Aaron. “The minute we step out…”

He was placed back down on the bed, and could feel sleep calling him. But his thirst kept him going. “Water,” he rasped out.

Aaron handed the glass to him without a word, looking as though he didn’t quite trust Thomas to hold it by himself, but Thomas still had his pride and he spent a copious amount of energy in trying not to spill a drop.

Aaron took the glass back and Thomas fell back into a deep slumber.

  

* * *

 

James closed the door behind him as he exited Thomas’ chambers, teeth worrying at his lips. He stood in the hallway for a moment before making his way to the kitchen, where he had no doubt Aaron would be.

And wasn’t it strange that he had _no doubt_ about the whereabouts of Aaron, a man who'd practically been a stranger for the past two years? He had Thomas to thank for that. And with that thought, his concern increased once more.

“Shit. Shit, shit, shit…” He heard Aaron before he saw him, and walked faster. Aaron honestly shouldn’t be allowed anywhere near the kitchen. Or a fire, for that matter.

But when he rounded the corner, he saw his partner standing there in front of a boiling pot of water, nothing amiss. “What’s the matter?”

Aaron didn’t even jump when James spoke, and James felt himself marvel at the change. “The kitchen whisky is missing.”

“It should be in here… oh. Yes, the kitchen whisky is missing.” He paused for a moment. “What is it you are making?”

“A posset, for Thomas. My mother and grandmother would make it for me as a child, and I hoped it would bring him comfort.”

“Mine as well. Wait a moment while I locate a bottle.” 

It took James only a few seconds, seeing as he was the one in charge of the alcohol supply in the house. He stood there watching as Aaron poured in copious amounts, with other ingredients that brought back long-forgotten childhood memories.

“Why did this happen?” he asked suddenly.

Aaron raised his eyebrow. “Illnesses are typically—”

“No, not that. That was bound to happen, what with how he’s been going about his days. I meant the avoiding and the moodiness.”

“Well, it’s been over two months. We can safely rule out an unplanned or unwanted pregnancy.” James’ stare drove Aaron to let out a gust of breath, and he went back to stirring and mixing. “I do not know. I do not know if it was something we did, or something _he_ did, but we must confront him about it. This can’t go on.”

 

* * *

 

There were voices when he grew aware of his surroundings again. Hushed whispers that occasionally grew louder before they were shushed by another voice. The sound of pages turning and the rustle of clothing. Footsteps pacing.

Thomas opened his eyes groggily. The curtains were partially closed, and the candles not lit, indicating that it was day. He looked around: James was the one pacing, his feet making their way across the expanse of the floor; Aaron was curled up – actually curled up, not sitting formally for once – in the armchair by the wall that Thomas never had cause to use.

He felt a strange warmth spread inside himself.

“He has woken!” James suddenly crowed, rushing up to Thomas. Thomas looked at him in surprise; James wasn’t one go near people in times of illness, much less race towards them.

“How do you feel?” Aaron asked, unfurling himself and making his way towards Thomas. “Give the man some space, James. Breathing is difficult as it is without ‘flu being upon you.”

James moved back, a wall suddenly falling over the anxiousness evident in his face.

“I am well,” Thomas said in response to Aaron. He pushed himself upon his elbows. “What hour is it? We must be terribly late—”

“You can relax, Thomas. We have sent a message telling Washington we will not be at work today. Or on the morrow.”

“What?!” Thomas shot up, vision blacking out momentarily before settling. His head was pounding like he’d drank copious amounts of alcohol. “I have so much—”

“Thomas,” James interrupted firmly. “You are unwell. Let us take care of you.”

His voice, while phrased like a question – or even a suggestion – brokered no arguing. Thomas found himself nodding, and cursed his weak will.

James and Aaron took turns staying with him and leaving to do god-knows-what, but the majority of the time was spent with Thomas. And Thomas watched in astonishment as they interacted with an intimate familiarity with _each other_ , from casual touches to not-so-casual touches, with Aaron even chuckling at James’ morbid comments.

Finally, after waking to another strangely intimate scene, he gathered the courage to ask. “Something has changed. In both of you…” Was there something he’d done that’d hindered their coming together, only occurring when he only saw them twice a week at most for the past couple of months?

“It has been lonely without you,” James told him quietly, bringing a chair beside his bed. “We learned to seek out each other’s company. And I think I speak for both of us,” Aaron came up beside him and placed his hand on James’ shoulder, and James reached out and clasped a hand atop his without a moment's hesitation, “when I say that we have spent every moment of the past few months wishing to be with you too.”

“Thomas, you have been… distant. But more than that. We understand you are bound by duties to Washington, but that does not mean you must spend every waking – and non-waking – hour in your office!” Aaron had started his speech gently but towards the end, his hands were clenched and Thomas could see James wincing slightly at the grip on his shoulder.

“I…” He had no words. Why _had_ he shut everything out? “It was cold.”

To their credit, James and Aaron waited for him to gather his thoughts. Thomas took a deep breath – willing himself not to break into a fit of coughs – and tried again. “You see, it was warm in Monticello. Always. And I had my Martha there…” To his great embarrassment, he felt his throat begin to close up and cut himself off before he could make the situation worse by _crying_.

But then he felt the weight of a hand upon his knee, and he looked up to see James’ eyes on him, worry and sympathy in their depths. Aaron was no longer there.

His mind was frozen, which was possibly a good thing, seeing as now he didn’t have to think about his pent-up grief driving away Aaron. He struggled to sit up, his whole body aching as though he’d been horseback riding for a day straight, and head still spinning at swift movements.

“Aaron has gone to bring you a posset,” James told him, his rumbling voice a balm to Thomas. “He will be back momentarily.” _So he hasn’t abandoned me_ , Thomas thought distantly. His stared unseeingly ahead, not focusing or accepting

They waited in silence until there was a crash, and Aaron walked in. “Please do not go out into the hallway until I have cleaned up the broken china,” he murmured. Thomas felt his lips move into a smile, a strange sensation after months of no proper human contact beyond work.

Aaron flit around to the other side of his bed, and Thomas expected him to deposit the cup and move back to a chair. But instead, he placed the cup on the nightstand and pulled back the covers, settling himself beside Thomas.

Thomas’ mind was a series of question and exclamation marks. 

“Aaron…?” he began questioningly, but didn’t finish before he felt movement on his other side, and turned to see James sitting beside him.

“Move,” he muttered as he sat next to Thomas. Thomas, who had just enough presence of mind to not openly gape, moved.

“Here, drink this—” a drink was shoved into his hand, “—and now you will listen to us.”

“We,” James gestured to Aaron and himself, “have realised that we have been treating you – and possibly each other – like emotionally constipated old men.”

“You have been nothing but open and affectionate since you have arrived here, and we did nothing to change our behaviours. And for that we are sorry.” Aaron took one of Thomas’ hands.

“We would like to start again. Aaron and I can’t ever replace your Martha, but I hope you’ll eventually consider this place to be home. Another home. Can you give us another chance?” James took the other.

Thomas felt a dawning hope. He could only nod.

 

* * *

 

Aaron would like to state for the record that their most recent argument was not his fault. It wasn’t his fault that he’d knocked over the vase, which had made it shatter into millions of tiny fragments – unfixable – which had then led to James fuming about its value and historical importance. And this had then caused Thomas to try softening James, which had backfired spectacularly and then James had left in an angry huff and slam of the door.

Aaron would also like to state for the record that he was not sulking. He was simply taking time away from every living creature in the house – including Thomas’ mockingbird, who usually had no trouble cheering him – and was busy being alone.

He breathed in the musty air of the library and sighed. He had no idea what had set off James, but he probably needed to be more careful next time.

The door creaked open and there were timid footsteps, as if their owner was unsure of something. The footsteps quickened, and Aaron recognised them as Thomas’. He glowered down at the page in his book as Thomas sat down beside him cautiously.

He didn’t say anything for a whole page, which Aaron turned warily, and could finally not take waiting. “What is it?”

He felt Thomas’ shoulder shrug, touching his. “I was waiting for you to tell me.”

Aaron sighed in exasperation. “I would, had I known.”

“I think,” Thomas said carefully, testing the waters, “that we have all been rather tense, what with the new bill passing. James more than most, seeing as it is his. And…”

“Always the mediator,” Aaron said, but this time he was smiling. He turned to face Thomas, so he wouldn’t get the wrong idea. “Do not worry; I will talk to him once he returns.”

Thomas chewed on his lip. “Yes, that is another problem. It has begun to rain.”

At that moment, there was the sound of the heavy wooden front doors of the house opening, and Thomas hurried to his feet. Aaron hesitated for a moment, but decided to follow.

Thomas had taken James’ coat and was quietly muttering passive aggressive rebukes. Aaron hid a smirk. There were droplets of water on the ground by James’ feet, and the shoulders of his shirt was slightly damp. His boots had mud on them, and Aaron winced at the tracks they would leave.

“…leave of your senses…” Thomas was muttering under his breath, and James gazed at him with pure fondness, but Thomas’ head was bowed and he missed it entirely. 

As Aaron watched, Thomas lifted his head to make eye contact with James, and in that moment, James brought his face down, lips meeting Thomas’ and hands coming up to cup his cheeks. Thomas stood frozen for a moment, before reciprocating the kiss softly, as if afraid of driving James away. Aaron felt a stirring within him, but didn’t make a move.

The two of them broke apart, standing there staring at one another until James turned to face Aaron. Aaron fought the urge to rise up in a defensive stance, forcing his expression to remain impassive. James walked up to him, and stopped directly in front of Aaron, leaving a sensible gap between the two of them.

“I am sorry,” he said, looking into Aaron’s eyes. “It was inconsiderate of me to take out my stress on you. Will you forgive me?”

Aaron nodded, not breaking eye contact.

“May I do this…?” When Aaron nodded again, James lifted a hand to the back of his head, bracing it as he leaned it, mouth meeting Aaron’s. Aaron kissed back. He could barely conceive the fact that he was here being kissed for the first time in his life by James. It didn’t feel life-changing or enlightening, but safe and secure. Aaron brought his arms up and onto James’ shoulders, not sure what to do with them but knowing that he wouldn’t mind.

Then James moved away and Thomas was there and Thomas was looking at him asking for permission and Aaron was nodding and there was more kissing and Aaron felt incredibly light, like his insides were shining out the moon’s rays and Thomas and James were the ocean that reflected it.

They didn’t collapse in a pile in the nearest room with a bed, nor did they end up ravishing one another on a wall. Instead they left it there, sharing light kisses and warm caresses as they made their way to the drawing room, doing nothing but sitting and conversing and occasionally touching because now they could, more freely than ever before. Aaron revelled in this newfound freedom.

At long last, James stood. “Join me in my chambers tonight?” he asked, looking at the two of them. They rose and made their way to his bed, not knowing what changes the morning would bring but knowing they would make it there together.

**Author's Note:**

> (I was /this/ close to pulling a Jane Austen and making James sick after his brief walk in the rain but one sick person is enough honestly)
> 
> History lesson time!
> 
> \- Burr was a feminist. He and Theodosia rly did have a portrait of Mary Wollstonecraft, and they did a bunch of cool stuff for females (such as helping found a uni for women, giving their daughter the best education ever for their time...) that I won't go into now bc it's 3am and I don't want to fact check
> 
> \- So fireplaces in this time (or rather, during the time of the early settlers bc I didn't rly specify the time of this) didn't usually have a mantle (in America); it was a flat board against the wall. Dutch houses had all this cool extra stuff for their fireplace, and houses in the south had their fireplaces located at the back of the house so it wouldn't overheat in the summer.
> 
> \- Because women's dresses were becoming puffier and bigger, they had all these fun hidden pockets in the skirts (cough something I wish clothing nowadays would have woULD IT KILL THE HANDBAG AND CLOTHING INDUSTRY TO GIVE US POCKETS)
> 
> \- There is speculation that Thomas Jefferson may have invented the lazy susan (or an early version of it) bc of his youngest daughter's complaints that she was leaving the table hungry because she was always served last. But there are also all these other theories that Thomas Edison may have invented it, or a bunch of these other ppl,,,,
> 
> \- Jean-Jacques Rousseau was a major writer during the French Revolution and he and his bud Diderot were hecka involved with it all. Diderot got himself arrested bc he was highkey against the Church and the monarch (he once said "man will never be free until the last king is strangled with the entrails of the last priest"), and Rousseau would visit him in prison bc they were #tight and while visiting him, Rousseau realised that "Man is born free and everywhere he is in chains" (and honestly if I were Diderot at that moment, actually in v literal chains, I'd would whack him over the head)
> 
> Thanks for reading and I hope you liked it =D


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